


Till Human Voices Wake Us, and We Drown

by 1Diamondinthesun



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Series Finale, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Diamondinthesun/pseuds/1Diamondinthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannah writes letters to Dexter. Spoilers for series finale.</p><p>PLEASE DO NOT POST THIS STORY ON OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. OR AT ALL. Posting someone else's work without their knowledge and/or permission is plagiarism, and that's not cool. If you like a fic, reblog the link on tumblr. Don't steal it. I have too much free time on my hands, and I will find you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till Human Voices Wake Us, and We Drown

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this piece comes from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T. S. Eliot. The following stanzas refer back to Dexter driving away from Miami into the storm in the season 8 finale.

_I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each_

_I do not think that they will sing for me_

_I have seen them riding seaward on the waves,_

_Combing the white hair of the waves blown back_

_When the wind blows the water white and black._

_We have lingered in the chambers of the sea_

_By sea-girls wreathed in seaweed, red and brown_

_Till human voices wake us, and we drown_

_\--T. S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_

Hannah writes to Dexter in Argentina

When Harrison is playing with his action figures, mumbling funny rescue scenarios

She makes a cup of _yerba maté_ and looks out her window in their apartment in Buenos Aires

Toward the river

 

A book of poetry lies open on the tiny kitchenette, _poems_ for God’s sake

 _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,_ a poem her father read to her once as a child and pretended he understood

Hannah’s never had much use for poetry, prefers to dig her fingers into the earth and nurture flowers

instead

But there’s something about the images in this that make her bones ache, her heart yearn for what she’s lost

For Dexter

 

She stares at the news report on her iPad when Harrison’s not looking and she can cry in peace

Believes that if Dexter had survived, by some miracle, he would never leave them; he would come,

somehow

And when staring at his picture in the article in the _Miami Herald_ gets to be too much,

She gets out a pen and paper and starts to write

 

In the beginning, they’re angry and short letters, written in a shaky hand

She tells Dexter what she’s doing, how Harrison is adjusting to life in the city, how he’s asked for him

What she tells him when she tucks him in at night and he misses his father—

That he got caught up at work, and Aunt Deb needs his help getting better

 _(God, Deb—_ Hannah had almost thrown up when she read _that_ news article, “Critical Homicide

Detective Disappears from Hospital in Hurricane, No Leads”)

And she tells Dexter to get his ass down here, because she won’t cover for him forever

That he better make it up to his _son,_ for God’s sake, and to her

As tears blot the paper, she hastily adds ‘I love you’ and says she understands, she trusts he’ll keep his

promise, frantic not to drive him away

Because she hasn’t gotten a lot of things right, before she met Dexter

Can’t stand for him to be angry with her or have an excuse to stay away any longer

So she signs it and wipes her eyes discreetly

Folds the letter with trembling fingers, and tucks it under a pot of _Erythrina crista-galli,_ the Ceibo flower,

blooming in the windowsill

 

(According to legend, said the man in the flower shop earlier that day,

the Ceibo plant came into existence when an Indian woman,

refusing to be taken hostage as a rebel and killing her guard, was sentenced to die by

burning at the stake. As she was engulfed in flames, villagers said she transformed

into a beautiful flower before their eyes.

The next day, in that spot, they discovered a Ceibo tree in full

bloom, red flowers at the peak of their beauty.)

 

Hannah appreciates how closely it mirrors her own life, the woman’s determination not to be

taken alive and caged--

Remembers the sick feeling in her stomach on a cramped, hot bus to Jacksonville

between Harrison and Elway with no leg room and the south Florida sun pressing in through the

windows, boxing her in

And what if Dexter doesn’t make it before the storm?

Watching the traffic crawl along, wondering what will happen to Harrison, who's already lost one parent--

 

She likes the symbolism of rising from the ashes and starting again, as she has done so many times already

Wasn’t that the plan, hers and Dexter’s? To start over together?

It was. _Is._ But why does she feel like everything’s falling apart, unraveling hopelessly?

So she smiles bravely, joins Harrison in the floor of their tiny apartment to play

 

She lies awake thinking of _him_ , love, the life they were supposed to have together

Dreams of Dexter floating on a piece of wreckage of his boat (she won’t miss _that)_

Pictures him swimming to shore, or being picked up by an illegal boat and taken to safety

And in the pale gray dawn of the city, staring sleeplessly at the ceiling, she imagines him at the bottom

of the ocean, alone, still as death, maybe caught in seaweed or pinned under a piece of his ruined boat

 

She takes a job at a nursery outside the city, rents a small house near the water

In some ways, it’s a lot like Miami—warm, beautiful, but crowded

She enrolls Harrison in school and makes him breakfast every day

The letters become calmer, longer, more contemplative

Her handwriting steadies, and she decides to bury the letters in a coffee can in the garden for now

Until Dexter comes

 

Because she knows now that he’s alive, the way she just knows things:

The way her orchids will react to too much sunlight,

Or the way growing up, she could always tell when her father was in trouble

By the way he would bring her gifts, force a smile— _just dropping in,_

And then the other shoe would drop

 

Hannah’s angry, of course, that Dexter’s out there somewhere, and they are here

But she’s already spent so much of her life sacrificing, waiting, and understanding

That she will forgive him—already has

She has Harrison now, and a job she loves

 

She is only lonely in the early morning hours before the world wakes, suspended in time and drowning

in her thoughts

Those are the only times she allows herself to despair, to feel everything that she keeps locked away

For a few hours, she lets herself burn like the woman who became a Ceibo

Instead of growing and blooming properly like the survivor she’s expected to be,

She curls up, fingernails digging into her palms in balled fists, grits her teeth, and cries

 

Then the sun rises, and so does she, from the ashes of what she’s lost

Day after day, and she’s _tired,_

But that’s what she's always been: a survivor

Dexter’s absence is proof of that, his silent trust in her to carry on alone

And she loves him and hates him for it, and it’s enough:

She survives.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr--God help me. Come say hi! I'm 1diamondinthesun at http://1diamondinthesun.tumblr.com/


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